


Seasoned Iron

by ac1d6urn (Acid), Sinick



Series: Lion About the House [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acid/pseuds/ac1d6urn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinick/pseuds/Sinick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you've ever wondered what Harry and Snape from Lion About the House were up to before they had a Lion Problem, here is the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasoned Iron

**Author's Note:**

> PWP (Pots Without Plot). No Cauldrons Were Harmed In The Making Of This Fic. This is a prequel to Lion About The House.

"Having a pleasant holiday, Professor Potter?" McGonagall cornered Harry on the Grand Staircase. 

"Yeah." Harry put on a pleasant grin. "S' hot today, innit?"

She nodded. "Indeed. I was just contemplating a nice cool walk in the dungeons…"

"No use," Harry sighed. "S' hot there too."

He was lying. The Slytherin dungeons were the only cool part of the castle this time of year. In fact if anyone – student or professor – had seen Harry and asked why he visited them so often, he'd simply shrug and say "S' too bloody hot anywhere else."

But it was better if McGonagall was nowhere near the dungeons this evening. It was difficult enough to deal with Snape without knowing that the curious tabby cat lurked nearby.

Harry found himself doing a lot of things lately that he didn't normally do. He blamed it on the weather. Maybe the greasy git was to blame too, just 'cause everything turned out to be his fault somehow. At least this time he had an excellent reason, besides the heat, to wander into Snape's territory. Harry made sure that McGonagall hadn't followed him, before he poked his head through the familiar doorway into the lab. "So, y'mentioned that potion to soak broomstraw in? The one that'd reduce drag? Had a chance to work on it yet?"

Snape turned his head and regarded him with a sour expression that hadn't changed one bit after all those months (two and a half to be exact) of Harry patiently taking Snape's advice about lesson plans. "Oh." One eyebrow rose. "Is the infamous Staff vs. Students Quidditch Match this weekend? I had _no_ idea." His long, slender fingers tapped the side of a large cauldron he held on his lap.

_Git!_ Harry should've known Snape'd ruin his excuse for staying in the only remaining cool part of the castle in seconds. Well, he wasn't ready to go back into that June heat just yet. So he blinked and peered over Snape's shoulder. "Um. What're you doing?"

What Harry really wanted to ask was 'Why the hell is that cauldron still empty when it should've been filled with something? Like my potion!' But a couple of months of teaching Defence to his former House had taught Harry the value of tact, by seeing how Gryffindors lacked it.

"You've never seasoned your own cauldron?"

Harry stared at Snape as if he'd asked Harry to list the seven properties of Acromantula venom or something. "Do what?"

"No wonder you were such an unmitigated disaster in Potions." Snape shook his head. "A _**Pot**ter_, ignorant of cauldrons," he smirked, "Imagine that. High time you learned."

Harry peeked over Snape's shoulder. "Don't s'pose you could give me a clue what I need to do?"

Snape pushed his hair away from his face. His hands shone with grease. "Season it, of course." 

Harry wondered whether all that oil on his hands came from his hair. "Why?"

"So you'll know it as an individual," Snape murmured in soft, preoccupied tones, looking down at the cauldron in his lap, "its thickness and shape, its every curve and quirk; and so it'll know you in turn." When Harry's look of disbelief only intensified into outright gobsmack, Snape heaved an aggrieved sigh and clarified in a much sharper voice, "_And_ so it won't bloody rust, of course!" He added in a grumble, "Cast iron is an excellent conductor of heat, and properly seasoned, it's also a wonderful non-stick surface. But you have to treat it with care." By the time Snape had finished speaking, his voice had lost its irritable edge and returned to its earlier low murmur. All the while, as he spoke, his hand moved in small circles over the cauldron and Harry suddenly got the image of Hagrid, patting one of his beasties to soothe it. He pictured Snape lecturing firsties on Care of Magical Cauldrons and tried his best to wipe the sudden smirk off his face. 

Meanwhile Snape's wand moved in a complicated gesture, casting a hot air charm on the inside of the cauldron. He set his wand aside and dipped his fingers into an open jar of clear oil on his desk. Harry peered. That explained the gleaming layer of grease on Snape's hands. Harry couldn't look away. It was almost sensual the way Snape's oil-slick fingers splayed and rubbed. 

Harry realised he probably shouldn't stare. _But it's so bloody confusing,_ he thought. _I can even understand being obsessed with Potions – the exploding kind's actually fun – but wasting all that effort on a manky old cauldron?_ "So basically I'm supposed to give your _cauldron_ a full-body massage?" he blurted.

Snape eyed the cauldron that was currently receiving such elaborate attention and then turned his head, which put him nose-to-nose with Harry. "Mis-ter Potter. You have a mind like a colliery railway: one-track and filthy."

Harry felt his face grow hot. "It is not!" _Oh bloody hell!_ "Honest! Now if I'd've asked if I'm s'posed to give your cauldron a full-body massage instead of giving _you_ one, then it could've been." _And now it **is**, thanks to you!_ This was a perfect example of how everything in Harry's life was Snape's fault. _The git!_

Snape gave him a long, blank look which revealed absolutely nothing. "Give me your hand."

"What?"

"Your hand, Potter."

Harry reached out, almost expecting to get it slapped.

"Here." Snape's fingers were warm. Harry never really expected them to be warm. They should've been slimy and cold, like snakes. They slithered like snakes though, spreading the slick liquid all over Harry's hands with a careful motion. "Try this one." 

Snape shifted away from the cauldron leaving enough space for one person. A very skinny person, so Harry reckoned he qualified. He eyed the cast-iron monstrosity. It didn't look at all like something that should be given such a treatment, especially with a much better candidate right behind him.

"Right." The cauldron echoed with a faint hum. Harry glanced inside it and hoped he didn't look as flustered as he felt. _I can do this._ Harry reached out tentatively and smeared the oil around the rim. The rough metal surface was still warm, almost like skin.

And then oiled hands slid over his, warm as the iron, pressing his palms flatter against the cauldron's sides. Snape murmured, "Remember, you need to feel the surface all the time."

Harry's hands twitched and Snape must've noticed, 'cause there was a low chuckle right behind his ear. A hand remained, steadying his. "Rub it all over, gently," Snape drawled. "Slow, steady circles, so you can feel the oil sinking into the pores of the metal."

_Circles. Right._ Harry tried his best to comply, even though it was proving to be very difficult to focus at the moment. The metal was warm, which felt odd. All those years of potions classes had led him to expect metal to be either as cold as the dungeon, or burning hot. Neither extreme encouraged contact, but now the cast iron was as warm as flesh. The warmth made the curved bottom feel alive. And as he rubbed, Harry felt change in thickness and texture for the first time. The rough-smooth surface of the metal, sliding under his palms, made them tingle in a strangely enticing way: like the prickle of pins-and-needles, only too gentle to hurt. Preoccupied, Harry murmured, "S'this how you like it?" _Fuck!_ "Um. I mean, want it." _Sodding hell!_ "Er. For the cauldron, that is," he added, flustered and hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Abysmal." Was that another chuckle he just heard – and felt – against his ear? He couldn't tell; he was distracted by that hand as it reached to tug his glasses off his nose and slip them in the breast pocket of his robe. "There. Close your eyes and concentrate that one-track mind of yours on something useful. Feel the rough patches and smooth them away."

Snape's arms went around him again and Harry simply forgot to breathe or think and everything was so...

"Slower!"

_Yeah, I sort of figured that out by now._ Harry tilted his head up, earnestly trying to remove the further temptation to squint at the cauldron, and the shoulder he leaned against felt rather nice, solid and comfortable against the back of his head.

"You rush through life," Snape murmured. "Not everything's a chore." He tried to relax as Snape continued to whisper instructions in his ear in that low, warm voice. "Are you always so hasty, even with something that's meant to be enjoyed?"

Harry gasped. He hoped it wasn't aloud.

Snape continued as calm as ever. "...There. Let your hand shape itself to the surface. Fingers and palm. Touch it." Snape's hand slipped over his own, moulding it to the curve of the cauldron. By now both of Harry's hands tingled deliciously, from his fingertips to the heels of his palms: maybe from rubbing the rough metal, maybe from something else. "The tiny imperfections, there. Smooth the oil in, fill them. Feel the metal drink it in. Sleeker now, mm?"

Yes it was. Now this, Harry could understand. Apparently, he did learn much better with proper instruction. Finally there was some part of Potions – besides the exploding kind – that he was beginning to warm up to. _Yeah, definitely warm._ Harry exhaled. If this kept up, the unthinkable would happen and he would get an Outstanding in Potions. He shifted uncomfortably; he was already _standing out._ 

"Wait a minute." Gentle fingertips touched the backs of Harry's hands and held them still. "Give me your hands, you need more…" He squinted at Snape's arms moving, reaching for the jar, and then a cupped palm tipped over his hands, spreading more oil. "There." The soft word stirred the hair over Harry's ear. "Better, hm?"

_Yeah, much!_ 

"What was that?" 

"Mm, uh-huh." He hoped that got the point across.

"You seem to be showing some progress on your own." Snape's voice washed over him like another layer of warm oil. "Should I let you have some time alone with my cauldron?" 

_Bloody tease!_ Harry tilted his head just enough for his lips to find Snape's stubbled cheek and then the corner of his mouth, which was curved in one of those smug, subtle smiles. 

"No," he breathed against Snape's mouth. "Stay." The smile widened as Harry added, "Please."

  
Snape whispered something quick and complicated, a spell: wandless, since both of Snape's hands were still on his. That was like no Banishing Charm Harry'd ever heard. He could feel his clothing unravel: every thread writhed and twisted against his skin – a million coiling creatures – before evaporating with a hiss. _Why did it have to be snakes? Show-off!_

But thought left Harry as those hands left his, sliding over the cauldron and off, moulding themselves to Harry's bared thighs, pressing against his skin with the same purposeful movements he'd used on the cauldron. Harry squirmed back against Snape, and wished all those layers of clothing were gone too, so he could arch back and show the tormenting git just how maddening these 'slow, steady circles' of his could be. But his wits were too scattered for a spell, so instead Harry only sighed "Yeahh," not even sure what he was agreeing to – it was all so good – but needing it anyway.

Snape apparently understood him, 'cause soon enough Harry heard the same charm murmured in his other ear and felt Snape's robes untwisting into nothing. Finally, those warm hands slid higher up his bare thighs – _Yes! About time! Nonono, not that far! Back down, dammit!_ – above his waist, brushing against his sides. Oiled fingertips traced and tweaked his nipples in a way that made him moan and collapse back against Snape's bony chest. Harry wished he had the strength to lift the cauldron so he could belt the teasing bugger with it. 

But his hands only clutched the edge of the cauldron in a white-knuckled grip. That was all he could do to stop them from going somewhere that wasn't a cauldron, smoothing the oil in, fingers and palm, and finishing the task the greasy git began. But that'd mean that all this would be over, and it felt too damn good to end.

And then there was warm breath, and warm lips on his shoulder, and a warm hand travelling down his side, pressing against his abdomen, and Harry forgot all about thumping Snape with the cauldron. His legs spread themselves wide against Snape's knees, ready to thrust against the blasted cauldron if Snape didn't touch him right now… _ohyes, there._ Warm, slick fingers curled around him just right and he knew at that moment he was gone.

He felt the huffs of air, and then licking and a bite against the back of his neck and his ear. He arched into the sensation, rotating his hips, moving against Snape's oiled fist and feeling the rough chest hair against his back.

"Stop, too much, gonna…"

"You aren't going to come." Snape ordered. "Not just yet."

Harry moaned in protest, pushing into Snape's fist.

"I'm curious to see just how _long_ you can _keep it up._ Count." 

"What?"

"Points. To Gryffindor." Snape squeezed his fist and moved it, slick and slow and utterly bloody incredible. "One."

_Sadistic bastard!_ Harry groaned as Snape's wonderful, horrible hand went still. He panted, trying to form a coherent word. "Two."

"Good. Let's see if you can _raise it_ to double digits." He could bet Snape was smirking into his ear. He could _feel_ it.

He gave up counting at eleven, and just pushed helplessly into Snape's fist. Panting, relieved that Snape didn't stop, and instead his hand moved faster and harder and _yeah, like that_. Numbers ran through Harry's head, _twelve, thirteen pleaseonemore, yes!_ as he spasmed. Pleasure unravelled every fibre of his muscles, just like his clothing before. Snape's arms tightened around him, just in time to stop him from sliding to the floor.

Then, the hands that had worked such magic on him left him; covered in semen, they slid inside the cauldron's open mouth. "Not bad for a _beginner_." Snape smirked as he rubbed Harry's come slowly into the metal, and the cold, mocking laughter Harry had hated for years was back in his voice as he declared, "There. You've _finally_ learned how to season a cauldron; better late than never, I suppose." The squat black metal still in Harry's lap gave a smug little hum of satisfaction as Snape added, "Careful, Potter; semen has many uses in the Dark Arts. None of them have _outcomes_ as pleasant as this." 

The words left Harry hollow and seething. He spun around to glare into Snape's face, which went carefully blank, as usual. _**Prick!** Here I thought you wanted me! You did, all right; you wanted to **use** me for fucking **ingredients!**_

Harry jumped off Snape's lap and threw the cauldron at him; it struck Snape's bony chest with a bruising thud and rebounded onto his lap, hiding something Harry no longer had any wish to see. Fury gave Harry's wandless magic the punch it needed to summon a fresh robe at once. "_So_ glad to be of service," he snarled, shouldering into the robe with sharp, jerky movements. "Hope you and your fucking cauldrons enjoy yourselves!" He stormed out, slamming the door after him with a BOOM that raised thunderous echoes throughout the dungeons.

Harry'd just started to climb the long stairway leading up from the dungeons when a wash of familiar, pricklydark magic overtook him, hitting the staircase. The stone treads rotated into a seamless slope, just like the stairs in the girls' dorm when Ron tried to climb them, and with a cry of "Fuck!" Harry lost his balance and skidded down the steep slope. The robes bunched up around his waist as he slid, and he landed flat on his arse on the cold stone floor, right at the feet of someone he'd just as soon hex as see again, especially right now.

Before he could jump up and attack, a phial was thrust into his face. "You forgot your potion," Snape drawled.

"You can _shove_ your fucking potion! I don't want anything from you!"

"Harry, what's the matter with you?"

"With _me?_ What's the matter with YOU? Who do you usually invite over to your dungeons to season your cauldrons, _Professor?_ Did you end up threatening them as well?"

"I was _joking,_ you pillock!"

"You… WHAT?"

Snape shot him an incredulous look. "Couldn't you tell by now?"

Harry shook his head, flabbergasted. _That actually explains quite a lot about him._

Snape sighed, looking around warily. The stone steps rotated and slid into place with a clack, turning back into an ordinary dungeon stairway. "Come back inside before someone sees you."

Harry thought he'd be a right old sight at the moment: in a hastily fastened robe, with his face flushed and his hair even more ruffled than usual. _If anyone sees me, they'll know exactly how I've spent the last hour. I don't even want to think what'd happen if McGonagall spotted me! Makes sense to stay out of sight for a while, just 'till I get myself sorted. And maybe if I hide in Snape's dungeons, I can get even with the git by making sure **he** doesn't look so bloody calm and collected either!_

Yeah, Harry thought, _getting even sounds brilliant!_


End file.
